


O Death

by murdererbyproxy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Death, M/M, Obsession, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:42:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1505786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdererbyproxy/pseuds/murdererbyproxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will learns that the orderly he sent after Hannibal Lecter is still alive. He gives it little thought, assuming that they'll never meet again. Not only does Will soon learn that he's wrong, but he becomes far more involved with Matthew Brown than he had ever been before.</p><p>Work unfinished due to me not being good with canon divergence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With some persistence, Will learns from Jack that the orderly he sent after Hannibal Lecter is still alive.

_“I want you to kill Hannibal Lecter.”_

He carefully watched the way the orderly reacted to his whispered request. There was a subtle, almost curious tilt of his head. Their eyes were fixed together for a couple seconds and Will could already see the cogs beginning to turn inside of his head. There was no deliberation. Matthew was the one to break the contact, his eyes cast just to the side as he thought. He turned his head away first, and then the rest of his body followed shortly after.

Will didn't watch him go, but he considered it. He could look at his body language, the confidence in his step, but he didn't really have to. He knew. If that man had been willing to force the bailiff’s corpse onto the head of a stag in order to exonerate him, how could he deny a personal request?

His footsteps grew quieter. After he heard the security door open and then close, they were gone. He was gone. He’d planted the seed, and now it was time to watch it grow.

Taking a step away from the bars of his cell, he slowly made his way to his cot. In the silence, he heard shifting. Abel Gideon was moving in the adjacent room. He could have heard the exchange, but it didn't matter if he had. Will wasn't concerned with that. He was concerned with action. Even behind bars, even in this cage that Hannibal had put him in, he still found a way to reach out and grab him. The fact that he’d needed to appeal to Freddie Lounds to get to that point was also irrelevant.

After seeing Beverly like that, something snapped in him. There would be no more waiting around, twiddling his thumbs, and allowing people to come visit him when they felt it appropriate. He wouldn't just sit behind the bars quietly anymore, hoping for somebody to _listen_ to him and see what he sees. Something had to be done. Hannibal needed to be _punished_ for what he did.

Before he requested that Hannibal should no longer be allowed to visit him, the two of them spoke about Matthew. Neither of them had semblance of an idea that this admirer was in the same building as they were. Hannibal asked him something that day:   _“This killer wrote you a poem, are you going to let his love go to waste?”_

_No, Dr. Lecter, I will not._

 

* * *

 

 

There was no way of knowing what Matthew Brown was planning or whether or not the plan would go through. Time seemed to pass exceedingly slow. It was probably the impatience. He wanted some sort of sign that things were in motion. He would sit and stare at the sink across from his bed, waiting. Just waiting. The orderly didn't return for some time.

Realistically, one of two things could have happened. The most probable outcome was that he would fail and that some part of him would end up on top of a decorative dinner plate. That would make him the second person that Will sent to their death. The other outcome, much more preferable to the first, was that Matthew had managed to locate Hannibal Lecter and kill him. He found himself fantasizing about the latter option, in spite of himself. Maybe he would be flayed open like Cassie Boyle, or burned alive like Georgia Madchen. He deserved to suffer for what he did to these people; he deserved to suffer for Abigail and for Beverly.

He would suffer for daring to make an enemy of Will Graham.

He didn't know anything for sure until Jack Crawford requested to speak with him. Outside of that human-sized cage they kept him in, Jack used the term “ _almost_ murdered,” and Will had his answer. Jack was clearly suspicious that he’d used the attendant as a tool of sorts, and Will didn't bother denying it. The conversation steered into a different direction afterward, but just before Jack took his leave, he asked a question.

“Is he dead?”

Jack looked puzzled, and a little bit annoyed. Granted, he always looked that way after a bout of implicating Hannibal Lecter as The Chesapeake Ripper. “Is _who_ dead?”

“The orderly,” Will responded, sounding out each syllable impatiently, “The man who  _championed_ me, so to speak.”

Jack shifted his weight, not answering immediately. When he did, his response was brief and stern, warning Will not to press him, “He’s not dead.”

He hadn't expected that. Jack’s tone was effortlessly ignored. “Where is he?”

The next response was even more severe, warning him again. “In the hospital.”

That sounded about right. It was hard to come out of any encounter with Hannibal Lecter completely unscathed. Will carefully stepped closer, wrapping both of his hands against the bars of his little cage. He wouldn't be deterred just yet. Locking his eyes firmly with Jack’s, he persisted. “Why?”

With a resigned sigh, Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked tired, maybe too tired to continue resisting for much longer. Will had a remarkable stubbornness. “Dr. Bloom and I are the ones that found him with Dr. Lecter. He had… a weapon, so I subdued him.”

With that, Will leaned away from the bars, letting his arms drop gracelessly to his sides. “You mean that you _shot_ him,” It was more of a statement than a question, “And tell me, Jack, what was he doing before you shot him?”

“That’s enough, Will.”

Although Jack’s tone was nowhere near as harsh as it had been moments before, Will knew he’d probably found the end of it. He just wanted to see how far he could get. He wanted the satisfaction of knowing what Matthew was doing to Hannibal Lecter. He’d spent every waking moment wondering up until now. Perhaps he’d have to wait for that.

“Is Dr. Lecter in the hospital as well?”

“Yes.”

It was said with finality, communicating to Will that it was the end of their conversation. To punctuate this, Jack thrust his hands into his pockets and started to turn away. Watching Jack move towards the stairs he’d come down from, Will felt the corners of his mouth turn up into an unconscious smile.

“Goodbye, Jack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have rough plans for a series of chapters which will divert from canon in some ways, but I'm using the events of the episodes following Mukozuke as a foundation. I've never bothered with writing fanfiction besides one-shots that I showed few people, so we'll see how this one plays out. Edits might happen frequently as I wrote this in the early morning hours without having slept.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew Brown is moved into the cell next to Will's at Gideon's absence. The two of them catch up.

Everything that happened outside of the Baltimore State Hospital was maddeningly out of his control. People came to him at their leisure to question him or ask something of him. Alana had visited him shortly after he set the orderly on Hannibal Lecter. He wasn't sure what hurt the most when it came to her anymore. It could be the fact that she was so fiercely protective of him, but not in the way that he needed. It could be the expressions she made, the way her eyebrows turned up when she nervously asked Will what he’d done.

Jack said that Alana had been with when Hannibal was located. Will still didn't know _exactly_ what his influence had set into motion and what she’d seen that night. All he knew was that both Hannibal Lecter and Matthew Brown were alive, and both were hospitalized. It was possible that he’d destroyed any sympathy that Alana had left for him.

As it turned out, Hannibal wasn't hurt badly enough to keep him away from from Will. It was doubtful that anything would keep him away. No details were offered up about the attempted murder when Hannibal came to speak to him, and really they didn't matter. What Will saw in front of him was a man who looked just as confident as the last time he’d seen him. He was visibly unscathed and undeterred. Matthew’s attempt on his life had done nothing except give him another reason to say his _feelings_ were hurt.

Now he’d take this chance to reel Alana closer in, and further away from Will.

Will had run out of sadness a long time ago. Failure only spurred him on further.

Later, something happened with Abel Gideon that nobody bothered to tell him about. He simply was escorted out of his cell one day to meet with somebody and then never came back. Gideon was the only person within Will’s reach that knew the truth, and he refused to tell it. Now he was gone too. Everything became significantly quieter without the short exchanges the two of them had. He was left to his thoughts, the silence turning to humming in his ears.

The sounds of cell doors opening and shutting had become so familiar to him that he barely noticed when it was coming specifically from the one beside his own. There some hushed words exchanged between two people, but it was hard to make out specifics. The door shut, and then there was the telling clink of handcuffs. Somebody was being placed into the cell.

Will was curious, but didn't make a move to see who it was. Gideon had been gone for quite some time now, and it was hard to believe he’d return so unceremoniously. He listened to the orderly making their way back down the hall. Something seemed off. Whoever was in there was exceedingly quiet. He couldn't hear breathing or movement. Will unconsciously held his own breath as he listened for a sign of whether or not it was Gideon.

“Mr. Graham?”

The voice didn't belong to Gideon, but he was still familiar with it. It was Matthew Brown.

Will was frozen, unable to answer immediately. Whose wonderful idea was it to place them in cells near one another? Chilton’s, no doubt. He’d been the one to put Gideon next to him, after all.

Matthew continued speaking with some level of humor to his voice, “Mr. Graham, we’re neighbors now.” He paused then, the humor residing. “I understand if you don’t want to talk to me.” Matthew moved towards the bars of the cell, leaning forward as much as he could and looking to his left. The rooms were separated by enough wall that it was nearly impossible for them to see one another.

It wasn't true that Will didn't want to speak to him. In fact, he wanted to ask him dozens of things. Not a single word would come out, however. The last time he spoke to this man, he’d sent him on his way with a mission. Now he was back, but stripped of his freedom. Not that Will felt particularly bad about that. He was a murderer, but compared to the actions of Dr. Lecter, he seemed as innocent as a child.

“Mr. Graham?” Matthew’s voice broke the silence again, “I know that he’s The Ripper.”

This caught Will’s attention, and he started to speak, but stopped short. He didn't actually know what words were going to come out of his mouth. It was a baffling and a little exhilarating know there was another person who had a handle on the truth. Will wondered just _how much_ Matthew knew. He stepped closer to the bars himself, unknowingly mirroring Matthew’s actions.

He just managed to pull his thoughts together and ask the most prevailing question on his mind.

“What did you do to him?”

There was a more uplifted tone to Matthew’s voice when he responded. “I sedated him. Made him a… makeshift crucifix. Hung him like Judas.” He chuckled, almost embarrassed, “Maybe I should have been... less theatrical… but he wouldn't have told me anything if I just _killed_ him.”

Will narrowed his eyes in disbelief, “Hannibal _told you_ that he’s The Ripper?”

“Not in so many words,” Matthew admitted, “But he didn't have to. His eyes told me. What he did tell me is that _you’re_ not who I thought you were. You’re not a murderer.”

It didn't sound particularly accusatory, and Will shrugged.“Are you _disappointed_?”

“No, not at all.” To Will’s surprise, Matthew sounded reverent, almost breathless. “I told you I read your case file. What you do--the work you did with the FBI-- that’s _very_ interesting on it's own.”

Matthew hadn't removed the stars from his eyes, after all. At least this  form of interest was nothing he wasn't used to. Countless people had stared at him with these curious expressions and told him how _interesting_ he was. They were psychiatrists and doctors, mainly. People who wanted to do a study on him and then get it published in the _Journal of Applied Psychology_.

Hannibal Lecter found him interesting too. It looked like his position as Will’s “biggest fan” being contested by one Matthew Brown.

“He sounded so disappointed when I implied that you sent me.”

“ _Good._ ”

The words left his mouth before he could think to stifle them. Up until then, he’d been choosing them carefully. Chilton was probably listening to their conversation, but what difference did it make, really? It was common knowledge that he’d sent Matthew to kill Hannibal. He couldn't possibly incriminate himself any further.

He heard Matthew laughing in response, his voice airy and light. “Did he turn you into a bad person, Mr. Graham? Or was that already in you?”

It was a good question, honestly. One that Will had considered on his own time several times over. He still didn't know a definitive answer to it. The line he walked between _seeing_ and _doing_ was often far too thin, and Hannibal would have the world believe that he crossed it. Enlisting Matthew’s help was a step in that direction, but he had no room to care anymore. The potential to be a bad person was probably always latent inside of Will, but Hannibal had coaxed it out.

No, he’d _forced_ it out.

When Will didn't respond, Matthew took it in stride. “Did he kill that woman we took you to see? What was her name?”

“Beverly. Yes, he did.”

“And Abigail Hobbs.”

“You're well informed.”

“Your _file_ , remember?” He chuckled, sounding almost delighted, but  stifled it halfway, “Everything you’re accused of, he did, didn't he? And you thought he was your psychiatrist.”

Will felt a subtle annoyance flare up in him, “You know an _awful_ lot about me, Matthew, but I don’t know much about _you_.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Graham,” his voice was calmer now, carrying the same confident ease that it did when they first spoke, “I’m just excited to see you. Or talk to you, as it were.”

Will tried to picture the way that Matthew looked on the other side of the wall. He’d never seen the man in anything but his white uniform, but it wasn’t difficult to imagine. He must have still been recovering from his wounds as well. His borderline obsession was still present. Everything was very much the same between them as it had been, all things considered. He didn't much time to himself to think before Matthew was calling out to him again.

“Mr. Graham?”

“I heard what you said.”

“It’s something else.”

Will took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. “What?”

“I’m sorry I couldn't do it.” He sounded small now, his apology delivered sincerely, “Kill him, I mean.”

Will found a shaky laugh escaping his lips, “Don’t you worry about that. You delivered a message, if nothing else.” He found it almost strangely touching that Matthew was still loyal to him. Loyalty was a trait Will admired. It was one of the many reasons he was so fond of dogs.

Matthew said nothing, but Will was imagining a satisfied look on his face.

“Matthew.”

“Yes?” The response was immediate.

“Would you help me again if I asked you? Figuratively.” Will asked.

“I would do anything,” Matthew responded truthfully,  “ _Figuratively._ ”

“ _Wonderful._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote another bit! Wow! I'm so impressed with myself.
> 
> Hopefully it made sense because I don't even know what I'm doing like 98% of the time.
> 
> Matthew, canonically, was shot on the left side of his chest which would take quite a while to recover from. But for fic purposes we're going to say the bullet grazed him. Va bene? Va bene.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will learns that he's free to go home.

Will was making a habit of cosying up to murderers. He found it pretty easy to open up to Matthew to a point; he was better company than Gideon had been. Not only that, but he was another person on the steadily growing list of people who understood the truth about Hannibal Lecter. Gideon knew, but wouldn’t tell. Hannibal’s former psychiatrist, Bedelia Du Maurier, said she believed him… but she was out of his reach.

When he told him about Bedelia, Matthew laughed and wondered out loud why nobody else had made the connection yet.

“ _Hannibal_ ,” Matthew had said, “It rhymes.”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Will snapped back, “I am not letting myself or anybody else live that down.”

Matthew’s airy laughter filled the silence. When it died down he muttered an apology. It’s sincerity was downplayed by his obvious amusement.

He didn't talk much about Beverly or Abigail or anything he’d lost since Hannibal became a part of his life. He spoke about the gaps in his memory and the unorthodox therapy he’d been subjected to. It was refreshing to have somebody listen. He was slowly gathering himself together again and unquestioning belief was something he’d been sorely needing.

No “you’re confused,” no “you’re sick,” no “you need to accept what you did.”

Matthew didn't talk about himself unless prompted by Will to do so. He wasn't hiding anything, he just didn't seem particularly interested. One evening, upon request, he went into more detail about what he did to Hannibal. Will was seated on his bed with his back to the wall. He closed his eyes while Matthew spoke and imagined himself inside of the story.

He was the one tightening the noose around Hannibal’s neck, he was gripping the knife stained with his blood. He was looking up at him, watching him choke and struggle. Watching the bucket shift underneath his feet. Seeing his expression twist with pain. Matthew finished his story with Jack Crawford finding him, but it continued inside of Will’s mind. Hannibal, with some persuasion, admitted everything he did. He learned what became of Abigail for certain. Then, he pushed the bucket out from underneath him.

When the life eventually drained from Hannibal’s eyes, Will opened his own.

“Nobody will believe you about him.” Will said quietly.

Matthew responded with some level of confidence, “No, they won’t. You influenced me to believe it. That’s what they’ll say, anyway. But I’d speak up for you if you asked me to, Mr. Graham.”

Will’s jaw tightened. “Don’t involve yourself.”

Matthew laughed. “I think you’ll find that I’m already involved.”

He was unfortunately, but indisputably correct. If Matthew spoke up on Will’s behalf, Hannibal would go after him. Of course, there was the very real possibility that he was already a target. Will had finally been filled in on the circumstances of Gideon’s disappearance. He’d been beaten half to death by guards for mouthing off arrogantly. No surprise there. After being admitted to the hospital, he was promptly abducted from it. If Hannibal Lecter was the captor, then he was proving himself to be quite thorough tying up loose ends. He had to be, having gone on with his “work” undetected for so long.

Even here, he was certain that Matthew wasn't safe.

He’d soon end up being just another body left in The Ripper’s path. Maybe he’d be mutilated in some “artistic” way. It was infuriating. He didn't _want_ that. He wanted it all to _stop_. People would come into his life and then be struck down before his eyes, and it _needed_ to end.

 _Abigail_ , he found himself mouthing silently. _Beverly_. Will’s fingers threaded his through his hair nervously and balled into tight fists.

“I won’t say anything,” Matthew said gently, almost as if he’d detected his heightening emotional state. “Unless you ask me to.”

The assurance did little to alleviate his budding anxiety, but it grounded him in a strange way. Will shut his eyes tight and noticed his breathing had become shallow and irregular. He focused on normalizing it. Matthew fell silent, allowing Will to gather himself without interruption. A couple minutes later, he opened his eyes again.

“I don’t… know. Yet.” Will admitted, his voice shaky with uncertainty.

He’d really doomed this man to die, hadn't he? It wasn't a pleasant feeling to have. It happened with Beverly. While Matthew was certainly not the intrepid but innocent person than Beverly had been, it didn't make it any easier.

“Whatever you say,” Matthew whispered from the other side of the wall.

 

* * *

 

 

Will was soon informed about what happened with Gideon, along with the pertinent details. Traces of human remains had been found in the fishing hooks suspending the murdered infirmary guard. They belonged to victims of The Ripper… and Marissa Schur, one of the many he was suspected of killing.

The remains exonerated him. He was free to go.

Chilton came to personally send him off. After a short exchange, encouraging Chilton to admit to his psychic driving, he requested a moment to speak to Matthew. Chilton’s expression was telling. He probably had been listening to most, if not all, of their conversations. Still, he allowed it with an unaffected shrug.

The roles between him and Matthew had been reversed. He stood behind the bars in his own clothing, and Matthew sat behind them in his dark blue uniform-- a stark contrast to his white one that Will had last seen him in. The other man stood to properly greet Will, a hint of a smile on his face. “I have mixed feelings about you leaving, Mr. Graham.”

He felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward into a subtle smile. “Sorry to leave so suddenly.”

Matthew’s eyes locked with his, and his expression melted into one of reverence. He saw his chest heave with a quiet sigh. He wasn’t sure if the level of admiration Matthew held for him was unsettling or endearing.

“It’s quite alright,” he responded after his short silence, “You shouldn't be in here. Doesn't mean I won’t miss you.”

Will looked away and slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He wasn't sure how to respond to that. He wouldn't miss anything about this place. He wanted to go home and see his dogs.

Matthew walked closer, as close as the confines of his cell would allow. His hands wrapped around the bars and he looked Will over. Every inch of him. Then he placed one hand over his mouth, shamelessly watching his face.

He pulled it away just enough to speak clearly. “Do you know what you’re going to do now?”

“I have an idea.” Will admitted, glancing over at Matthew once again.

Matthew tilted his head, curious, but he didn't probe further because of Chilton’s presence. He lowered his hand completely. “Do you think he’ll try to hurt you?”

He huffed out a terse and humorless laugh. “No. I don’t.”

Hannibal went out of his way to get him out of here, and he’d made it no secret that he _missed_ him. There was always that possibility, but he doubted Hannibal could hurt him anymore than he already had without personally gutting him.

Matthew nodded fractionally in understanding, but his eyebrows gently turned up in apparent concern. Being able to see the expressions that accompanied their conversations gave Will a new perspective about him. Had his obsession turned into some level of actual compassion? It was possible.

When he’d claimed that the two of them didn't “have” something, or evolved not to need it, the immediate connection was that he was referring to a conscience. Sociopaths didn’t have compassion, though… unless they were faking it. They were amoral and did exactly what benefited them. When they loved, they loved with a selfish intensity. However, they weren't known for sticking their neck out and risking themselves for that love. Matthew was, and continued to be, quite a mystery. But he’d leave his psychoanalytical process to the psychiatrists.

He had an ally, in any case. Among the slew of people who claimed he was delusional about Hannibal Lecter, he had somebody.

Matthew was watching him expectantly.

“I’ll come visit.” Will said, and from the look in Matthew’s eyes he could tell that’s exactly what the other man had been expecting, “...if I want to talk. If that’s allowed.” He turned to look towards Chilton, but he noticed the man was already at the end of the hall. From his lack of reaction, it seemed like he hadn't heard that end of their quiet conversation.

Looking relieved, Matthew rested his forehead against the bars and closed his eyes.

“I’d like that,” he muttered contentedly.

It wouldn't hurt to humor him, and Will would be lying if he said he didn't find some level of comfort in talking to somebody who believed him. He stole another glance at Chilton, who was still waiting with surprising patience, but he wasn't paying attention. He took the opportunity to step closer, placing a hand over Matthew’s knuckles which were wrapped around the bars of his cell.

Matthew’s eyes shot open and locked with Will’s. The proximity was reminiscent of when he’d asked him to kill Hannibal.

He wanted to say something, but he couldn't figure out the words. He just hoped that the gesture meant something to him. He wasn't sure if it was appropriate to thank him for what he’d done, or to reassure him that he’d be fine. In the end, they stood in silence for several moments before Will removed his hand, ducked his head away, and started off towards Chilton. He didn't look back.

When he met the man at the end of the hall, Chilton looked at him with an unreadable expression. There was some measure of exhaustion mixed in-- a very common look for him lately.

“Good to know that you made friends during your stay,” he said, motioning for a guard to open the security door. A loud beep resounded.

“You could call him that,” Will responded after the security door shut loudly behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize deeply for the gruesome Red Dragon reference. Please forgive.
> 
> Anyway, here's more.


End file.
